Only You (what if?)

by Anonymous

Summary:

Ayla’s bratty defiance crumbles under Tawan’s dominance, leaving her claimed in a night of mystery and heat.

The van glided through Sukhumvit’s late-night traffic, the hum of the engine steady, broken only by the occasional hiss of tires when the driver braked. Bangkok outside was restless—neon lights flashing, street vendors still open, motorbikes weaving recklessly between cars. But inside, the air was tight, brittle, close enough to crack if either of them breathed too loudly.

Ayla shifted in her seat, turning just slightly so her shoulder pressed into the cool glass of the window. The city lights streaked across her face, carving her profile in shifting golds and blues. Normally, she would lean into Tawan, her presence a comfort that grounded her. But tonight—no, not tonight. She held herself away, her cheek tilted toward the window as though the glass was safer, more welcoming than the woman sitting beside her.

Tawan sat with her usual stillness, straight-backed and watchful. Her eyes should have been scanning the road, the shadows slipping past, but they strayed. Again and again, they flicked toward Ayla, catching every flicker of her expression reflected in the window.

Ayla was only a few centimeters taller, but somehow that difference always felt like more. When she leaned close in the past, when she teased, when she smiled down at Tawan with that mischievous glint—it made Tawan feel both small and undone. Now, with Ayla’s face turned deliberately away, the gap between them felt like a gulf Tawan couldn’t cross.

It had been three days since the confession.
Three days since Ayla had stood too close, her breath warm, her voice trembling as she whispered what she’d kept buried.
Three days since Tawan had shaken her head, steady and sure, I can’t. I’m your bodyguard.

Ayla hadn’t pressed, hadn’t cried. She had only nodded once, lips tightening, eyes going unreadable in an instant. And then—this. Distance. Silence.

Tonight, it was sharper than ever.

Her earphones were in, one dangling slightly as she scrolled through her phone. A faint smile ghosted over her lips as new messages lit up the screen. Tawan’s gaze dropped to the pale curve of her fingers, the way her nails caught the dim light. Everything Ayla did, every small shift, every twitch of her mouth, pulled at Tawan’s focus like gravity.

She shouldn’t look. She shouldn’t care.
But she did.

The van slowed at a red light. Ayla slipped one earbud free, her voice casual—too casual, deliberately placed like bait.
“Pete said he might wait for me tomorrow after the shoot. He offered coffee. Sweet of him, isn’t it?”

The words were addressed to no one. Just the air, maybe the driver, never to Tawan. But the effect was merciless.

Tawan’s jaw clenched. Pete again. The fellow idol whose hands lingered too long on Ayla’s shoulders, whose laughter filled rehearsal rooms until Ayla’s joined in, bright and unguarded. Pete, who wasn’t bound by duty, who could stand at her side without the weight of rules and oaths chaining him down.

Tawan forced herself to stay quiet. Professional. Always professional. Her hands, though, betrayed her—one curled tight against her thigh, the other flexing at her side.

Ayla slipped the earbud back in. The faint curl of her lips remained, small but deliberate. A half-smile not of joy, but of defiance. She wanted Tawan to notice.

The van rolled into the driveway of Ayla’s condominium. Security lights spilled across her frame as she gathered her things, making her glow against the night. Without a word, she slid her bag over her shoulder and stepped out, her long legs carrying her ahead with ease. Tawan followed, the difference in their height pronounced even more when Ayla didn’t slow down to match her stride.

Usually, Ayla would. She’d glance back, tease Tawan for walking like a soldier, sometimes even hook her arm around the shorter woman’s in playful rebellion. Tonight, nothing. Just the click of her heels against the pavement, quick and decisive, like a drumbeat leading Tawan forward without ever offering closeness.

The lobby staff greeted them politely. Tawan returned the nod, her face impassive. Ayla didn’t even look up from her phone.

At the elevator, Ayla pressed the button with a careless flick of her finger. When the doors opened, she stepped inside, not sparing Tawan a glance. The mirrored walls caught them both—the idol standing tall, her chin slightly lifted, the faintest smile at her lips as she read another message. And beside her, the bodyguard, straighter still, silent, her face unreadable but her hands tense at her sides.

The ride up was thick with quiet. The hum of the elevator filled the space where Ayla’s voice once lived. Her thumbs moved quickly across her screen, and once, she even laughed under her breath. Tawan didn’t need to guess who she was talking to.

When the doors slid open, Ayla finally spoke. Her voice was cool, even, stripped of any warmth.
“You don’t need to walk me up tonight. I’ll be fine.”

It was dismissal, pure and sharp.

Tawan’s throat tightened, but she gave only a small nod. “Understood.”

Ayla stepped out, her perfume trailing behind—sweet, faint, gone too quickly. She didn’t look back, her taller frame carrying her forward without hesitation.

The doors closed.

Tawan stared at her own reflection, her face a mask, her eyes empty. Inside, though, something twisted tight, hot, and unbearable.

This was what she wanted. Boundaries. Distance. Control.
So why did it feel like she had just been left behind in a place colder than the empty elevator?

 

---

 

The rehearsal hall was already buzzing by the time Tawan entered. Staff hurried back and forth with clipboards, adjusting light rigs and sound checks, the echo of bass-heavy music bleeding from the speakers.

From her usual spot by the wall, where the shadows swallowed her into quiet anonymity, Tawan scanned the room the way she always did. Methodical. Professional. Her gaze swept past the crew, the exits, the timing of doors opening and shutting.

And then it found Ayla.

The idol stood at the center of it all, commanding without even trying. Her hair tied loosely, makeup light but precise, her body moved fluidly as she went over choreography with the other idols. She was laughing—bright, easy, the kind of laugh that curled into Tawan’s ears and refused to let go.

But it wasn’t for her.

Pete stood close, maybe too close, his hand brushing against Ayla’s arm as he leaned down to say something. Whatever it was, it made Ayla’s lips curve into a smile, her taller frame tilting toward him just enough that the space between them shrank.

Tawan’s stomach tightened.

It was nothing. Just co-workers. Colleagues. Artists who had known each other for years. That’s what she told herself as she crossed her arms over her chest, nails biting into her skin. Still, her eyes didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Pete touched her again, casual, careless—the press of a palm against her back as the choreographer corrected their positioning. Ayla didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned into it, tilting her head to the side as if listening closely, her lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

And that smirk—it wasn’t for Pete.
It was for Tawan.

From across the room, their gazes met for the briefest heartbeat. Ayla’s eyes glittered with something sharp, deliberate, before she turned back, her laugh spilling out again at something Pete said.

Tawan exhaled through her nose, long and steady. She forced her stance back into rigidity, hands behind her, shoulders square. The perfect picture of detachment. But her jaw ached from how tightly she was holding it.

The music started again, the beat heavy, filling the hall. The idols moved into position, their bodies bending, twisting, syncing in perfect time. Pete was paired with Ayla for the sequence—Tawan knew the choreography, had read the notes in advance, but she hadn’t expected it to feel like this.

Every step seemed designed to grind into her.
Pete’s hand at Ayla’s waist.
The way their bodies moved in tandem, brushing, turning, almost touching lips as they spun.
Ayla’s laughter when he messed up, the casual way she swatted at his chest before trying again.

The heat crawled up Tawan’s neck. She swallowed it down, forced her eyes to track the perimeter, to do her job. But inevitably, her gaze returned, pulled back to Ayla like a compass to true north.

And Ayla knew.

She tilted her chin, her height giving her just enough advantage to look past Pete, her eyes locking with Tawan’s across the mirrored wall. A flicker—half a second—where her lips curved upward, small and taunting, before she let Pete spin her again, her hair flying as she moved.

The rehearsal director clapped sharply, calling for a break. Bottles of water were handed out, sweat gleaming on skin as idols collapsed onto the floor in lazy piles. Pete dropped down beside Ayla, tossing her a towel with a grin. She caught it easily, dabbing at her face before tossing her hair back, her laughter carrying across the hall like a blade twisting in Tawan’s chest.

Pete leaned in, their shoulders brushing. He said something low, and Ayla tilted her head toward him, smiling wide this time, wide enough to show teeth. She let his hand linger on her knee, didn’t move it away, didn’t even glance toward the woman standing watch.

But her smile faltered—just slightly—when her eyes slid back to Tawan.

Because Tawan was already watching, silent, unmovable, but her gaze was fire. Controlled, yes, but heavy enough to burn.

Ayla held it for only a second before turning away, her laughter returning, brighter than before.

The cold shoulder last night had been one thing. This—this was a war. And both of them knew it.

 

The rehearsal hall slowly settled into a more casual rhythm as the choreographer stepped aside to discuss notes with the staff. The idols sprawled across the polished floor, some scrolling through their phones, others sipping water, their laughter echoing faintly in the vast room.

Ayla sat cross-legged, towel draped loosely over her shoulders, a sheen of sweat on her neck glinting under the fluorescent lights. Her long frame was languid, at ease, as if the entire stage were her personal lounge. Pete was beside her—of course he was—close enough that his knee brushed hers with every small shift.

From her post near the back wall, Tawan’s eyes locked on them. She told herself it was only observation, duty. But her body betrayed her. Every muscle was wound tight, her heartbeat slow but forceful, each thud echoing in her ears as her gaze tracked Ayla’s every movement.

Pete held out a snack bar he’d ripped open. “You must be starving,” he said with an easy grin. “You didn’t eat much earlier, did you?”

Ayla tilted her head, strands of hair clinging to her damp skin. She hesitated just long enough for her gaze to flick toward Tawan—barely a glance, a brush of acknowledgment—before she leaned closer to Pete, parting her lips slightly.

“Fine,” she murmured, her voice low, almost indulgent.

Pete laughed and held the bar up to her mouth, steadying it with one hand. Ayla didn’t pull away. She leaned forward, lips closing around the bite, her eyes half-lidded as if savoring the taste—or the effect.

Tawan’s throat went dry.

The act was innocent enough, harmless on the surface. Idols fed each other all the time, fans adored those moments. But to Tawan, watching Ayla’s lips brush against the wrapper, watching her chew slowly while Pete chuckled like he’d won something—it was an execution disguised as play.

Ayla swallowed, dabbing her mouth with the corner of the towel. “Not bad,” she said, her voice airy. Then she leaned back, one hand braced behind her, her long legs stretching out across the floor. Pete was still grinning, leaning toward her, their shoulders pressed together.

And then he pulled out his phone.

“Selfie?” he asked, already tilting it at an angle that framed them both.

Ayla didn’t hesitate. She shifted closer, tilting her face toward his, her cheek nearly brushing his. Her lips curved in that easy, radiant smile that cameras loved. Pete lifted the phone higher, snapping one photo, then another.

But then Ayla tilted her head just slightly, her lips parting into a smaller, sly smile—closer, closer still, until the distance between her mouth and Pete’s was nothing more than a breath. The image reflected faintly in the mirrored wall behind them: two idols, shining, playful, almost kissing.

The phone clicked again.

Tawan’s chest tightened, heat flooding her skin despite the cool air of the hall. Her hands, hidden behind her back, curled into fists, the veins in her forearms taut. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to close the gap, to drag Ayla away from that boy who didn’t understand the danger of being too close—not from paparazzi, not from fans, but from the storm quietly brewing in the bodyguard’s chest.

Pete lowered the phone, laughing again as he scrolled through the shots. “Perfect,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder. “Our fans are going to go crazy when they see this.”

Ayla leaned in, peering at the screen. Her lips were still curved, but her eyes—when they flicked up, just once, across the room toward Tawan—were something else entirely. Sharp. Cold. Testing.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

Tawan didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t allow the crack in her chest to show. But the silence around her was heavy, suffocating, and her gaze didn’t leave Ayla’s for a long, burning second.

Ayla broke it first, turning back to Pete with a laugh that rang false, bright and hollow. She let her hand linger on his arm, let her head dip closer as if whispering something just for him.

And Tawan stood there, rooted in place, every line of her body rigid with restraint.

It was only rehearsal.
Only a break.
Only nothing.

So why did it feel like Ayla was peeling her apart piece by piece, one smile, one touch at a time?

 

The rehearsal ended late, long after most of the building’s lights had dimmed. The hallways were quieter now, lined with stacked equipment cases and discarded water bottles. Ayla walked ahead, her long strides unhurried, her towel looped casually around her neck.

Tawan followed, as always, her boots clicking softly against the floor.

The ride down in the elevator was hushed. Ayla stood with her back pressed lightly against the mirrored wall, scrolling on her phone, the bluish light illuminating her face. She didn’t look at Tawan once. Her reflection showed a sharp jawline, lips slightly parted, and eyes that curved into a faint, satisfied smirk each time a notification buzzed.

Tawan kept her gaze forward, arms folded behind her back. But her thoughts were loud, clashing like thunder in her skull.

The van was waiting at the side entrance. Ayla climbed in first, sliding into her usual seat. She didn’t glance at Tawan when the bodyguard followed, didn’t even shift her legs slightly to give her space like she usually did. It was subtle, but enough—the kind of dismissal that stung precisely because it was so deliberate.

The engine hummed, the city sliding by outside in streaks of neon and shadow.

For several minutes, Tawan kept her silence. She tried to breathe past the storm. Tried to remind herself that her role was protection, not judgment. Tried to keep her words pressed down where they couldn’t escape.

But Ayla, lounging with one arm thrown over the seat, scrolling her phone with a faint, pleased curve to her lips, was a vision that tested every ounce of restraint.

Finally, Tawan spoke. Her voice was quiet, steady, but the weight behind it was unshakable.

“You should be careful.”

Ayla’s thumb stilled against the screen. She didn’t look up. “Careful?” she echoed, her tone airy, disinterested.

Tawan’s eyes flicked toward her, then back to the dark road ahead. “With Pete. With anyone, really. That closeness… it can be taken the wrong way.” She paused, choosing her words with precision. “It might ruin your image.”

For a moment, silence hung between them. Only the low hum of traffic filled the space.

Then Ayla laughed. Soft, amused, and sharp all at once.

“My image,” she repeated, finally lifting her eyes from the phone. She turned her head toward Tawan, the faintest tilt of superiority in the way her taller frame leaned back, her chin angled downward just slightly as she regarded her. “Since when do you care about that?”

Tawan’s jaw tightened. “It’s my job to care,” she said evenly.

Ayla’s smile widened, though there was no warmth in it. “Your job is to keep people from touching me. Funny, though—you didn’t stop Pete.”

The words slid under Tawan’s skin like a blade. She inhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch before she answered. “He’s not a threat. But the way it looked—” She cut herself short, biting down the rest before her voice betrayed her.

“The way it looked?” Ayla leaned closer, her shoulder brushing the seat as she tilted her head. The faint scent of her perfume drifted between them, sweet and lingering. “You mean the way it looked to you?”

Tawan’s gaze snapped to her, sharp, unflinching. But Ayla only smiled wider, her eyes glittering with challenge.

“Don’t worry, bodyguard,” she whispered, the word a deliberate barb. “I’ll take care of my image. You just take care of your job.”

And with that, she turned back to her phone, cutting the conversation off as cleanly as a blade slicing through rope.

The cold shoulder returned, heavier than ever.

Tawan’s fists curled in her lap, her nails biting into her palms. She forced her breathing steady, forced her expression into stillness. But her chest ached, her pulse hot and loud in her ears.

The rest of the ride stretched endlessly, Ayla’s phone screen lighting up her face, laughter escaping her lips now and then—directed not at Tawan, never at Tawan.

When the van pulled up to her condominium, Ayla rose first, bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. She stepped out without waiting, heels striking the pavement with sharp confidence. Tawan followed, her boots slower, heavier.

At the elevator, Ayla pressed the button, her reflection tall and untouchable in the mirrored doors. She didn’t look at Tawan when she said, “Goodnight,” her tone flat, distant, almost mocking in its politeness.

The doors slid open. She stepped inside.

And just like last night, she didn’t look back.

 

---

 

The following evening came with a different kind of weight. The air outside the hotel was thick with humidity and the heavy glow of camera flashes. Ayla had a public event scheduled—one of those high-profile music promotions where half the city’s reporters would line up for a chance to get a headline.

Tawan trailed behind her, as always. Dressed in her suit, discreet earpiece tucked in, she looked the picture of control. But inside, she was restless. The tension from rehearsals earlier still hadn’t left her chest—Ayla brushing against Pete, laughing into his shoulder, their lips nearly touching in selfies. Every time Tawan blinked, those images replayed like a punishment.

And Ayla knew. Tawan could sense it in the way the idol held her chin a little higher now, the deliberate swing of her walk, the faint smirk that crossed her lips when she caught Tawan’s eyes on her.

The event venue was packed. Reporters clustered at the barricades, cameras already flashing as Ayla stepped onto the carpet. Pete was beside her—perfectly styled, smiling, walking just half a step too close.

The cameras loved it.

Ayla tilted her head toward him, laughing at something he said. Then, bold as ever, she let her fingers brush against his arm. It was fleeting, but deliberate. Tawan’s hand tightened against the radio clipped to her belt. She forced herself to look around, scanning the crowd for threats, but her eyes kept slipping back to Ayla.

Inside the venue, the Q&A session began. The idols lined up on stage, microphones in hand, smiling beneath the warm floodlights. Tawan positioned herself at the wings, close enough to hear every word.

It didn’t take long.

A reporter raised a hand, voice sharp with interest.
“Ayla, the fans have noticed you and Pete have been… very close lately. There are a lot of pictures circulating online. Could you comment? Are you two in a relationship?”

The room erupted with clicks and flashes. Pete chuckled, scratching the back of his neck as though embarrassed, but his eyes darted sideways to Ayla. He was waiting on her lead.

And Ayla—always one to perform—leaned into the microphone, lips curling into that bratty little smirk that Tawan had come to know too well.
“Pete takes very good care of me,” she said sweetly. “We spend a lot of time together. He’s… special.”

Gasps rippled across the room. Reporters leaned forward, firing more questions. The flashes were blinding.

Pete laughed nervously but didn’t deny it. Instead, he slung an arm loosely behind Ayla’s chair—not quite touching, but close enough for the cameras to capture the implication.

From her post in the shadows, Tawan’s jaw locked tight. She could feel her pulse beating in her throat, hot and fast. Professionalism screamed at her to remain composed, to remember her role. But inside, she was burning.

Because this was no longer just about Ayla being reckless. This was Ayla deliberately pushing at her, poking at the wound Tawan herself had made the night she rejected her.

And Ayla, standing just a few centimeters taller, smirked again—this time with the faintest glance toward the wings where Tawan stood.

As if to say: See what happens when you push me away?

The reporters erupted into a storm of questions, but all Tawan could hear was the thunder of her own heartbeat.

 

The lights were merciless. Hot, white, glaring—every flashbulb a reminder that Ayla’s every move was being captured, replayed, dissected.

The host moved the conversation along, but the questions kept circling back to the same subject: Pete and Ayla. And Ayla, far from retreating, seemed to thrive under the spotlight.

She shifted in her chair, her long legs crossing elegantly, and when Pete leaned close to whisper something, she let him. More than that—she tilted toward him, their shoulders brushing. The cameras clicked furiously.

Then it happened. Pete’s hand slipped, almost casually, around her waist. He didn’t grip, just rested his palm there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Ayla didn’t pull away.

If anything, she leaned in further, lips tugging into a smirk as though daring the press to make of it what they would.

From the side of the stage, Tawan’s body went rigid. Her eyes locked on that single point—Pete’s hand against Ayla’s waist. Every instinct screamed at her to step in, to separate them, but she couldn’t. Not here. Not under the floodlights. Not with a hundred cameras ready to capture her every move.

Her nails dug into her palm instead, hidden behind her folded arms.

Ayla, of course, wasn’t finished.

During the next question, when Pete shifted uncomfortably, she reached up—slow, deliberate—and brushed her fingers against his shoulder, smoothing invisible creases from his jacket.

The room erupted with delighted chatter. Reporters scribbled furiously, flashes popping brighter than before.

Pete laughed awkwardly, trying to play it off, but Ayla only smiled, her lashes dipping low as she adjusted his collar with delicate precision.

The fans in the audience screamed. The press loved it. The manager sitting near the front was pale but forced a smile for the cameras.

And Tawan—standing in the shadows—felt her chest tighten until it was hard to breathe.

Because this wasn’t Ayla being naïve. This wasn’t her accidentally crossing a line. This was calculated. Intentional. Every brush of her fingers, every tilt of her smile—it was a performance crafted for maximum effect.

And yet, it wasn’t the cameras Ayla was looking at when she did it.

It was Tawan.

Just the briefest flick of her gaze, almost too subtle to catch, but Tawan saw it. The challenge, the defiance, the silent message burning behind those dark eyes:

Are you still going to tell me to behave? To keep my distance?

Pete adjusted his microphone, clearing his throat, clearly overwhelmed by the frenzy. But Ayla sat poised, calm, bratty as ever, basking in the storm she herself had created.

The press couldn’t get enough. They shouted questions over one another—
“Are you two dating?”
“Is this an official couple reveal?”
“Ayla, is Pete your boyfriend?”

Pete stammered, flustered, but Ayla leaned toward the mic with the kind of confidence only she could summon.
“Pete and I,” she said sweetly, fingers brushing his arm again, “are very close. Fans can think what they like.”

The room exploded.

Reporters clapped, shouted, laughed. The frenzy grew so loud that even the host struggled to regain order.

And through it all, Tawan stood frozen, fists clenched at her sides, fighting the urge to storm the stage and drag Ayla away from the chaos she’d unleashed.

But she couldn’t.

Because to the rest of the world, this was just an idol playing with the cameras.
But to Tawan—it was Ayla playing with her.

 

The ballroom emptied little by little, the press trailing after their headlines, the organizers dispersing with satisfied smiles. It was the kind of event that left Tawan with a faint buzz in her ears—cameras, laughter, polite clapping, all running into each other.

But her focus, as always, was Ayla.

Ayla, who looked every inch the star tonight. Ayla, who had smiled with practiced ease in front of cameras while letting Pete’s hand rest a fraction too long at her waist. Ayla, who brushed her fingers on Pete’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Every touch was a test. And Tawan felt herself failing.

When the event ended, she expected Ayla to head straight up to her suite. That was the routine. But instead, Ayla slipped away with Pete, quiet as a shadow, leaving the handlers and staff to think she had retired for the night.

Tawan noticed. She always noticed.

Her gut tightened as she followed at a distance, weaving between hallways lit in gold, until the carpet ended and the cool night air opened around her.

The hotel garden spread wide under string lights, manicured hedges and fountains casting soft reflections. Couples lingered here and there, but all Tawan saw was them.

Pete leaned against the stone balustrade, smiling down at Ayla. His jacket was unbuttoned, tie loosened, posture relaxed—the kind of ease men wore when they knew they were winning.

And Ayla…

Her arms were draped around Pete’s nape, casual and intimate. Her head tilted toward him, lips parted just slightly as she laughed at something he said. The string lights made her earrings glint, made her look ethereal and untouchable.

To anyone passing by, it looked like they were kissing.

Tawan froze mid-step, every muscle wound tight. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails pressing crescents into her palms. She could barely breathe with the way the image burned into her mind, the way her chest ached with something raw and ugly.

Is this what you want me to see, Ayla?

She didn’t even realize her voice had already slipped free, sharp and cutting through the night like a blade.

“Ayla.”

The name cracked out of her throat, low but firm, leaving no space for playfulness.

Both Ayla and Pete turned their heads at once. Pete startled, his easy smile faltering at the tone. Ayla, however, did not flinch.

She looked at Tawan with her chin lifted, gaze defiant, eyes gleaming like she had been waiting for this very moment.

For a breath, no one moved. The string lights swayed gently in the breeze, water trickled from the fountain, and Tawan’s heartbeat pounded loud in her own ears.

Pete was the first to step back, discomfort written across his face. But Ayla remained exactly where she was, one arm still lazily looped around his neck, like she was daring Tawan to do something about it.

“Tawan,” Ayla said finally, her voice calm, almost teasing. “Did you need something?”

It wasn’t innocence in her tone. It was provocation.

And Tawan—jaw tight, shoulders stiff, every line of her body humming with the effort to stay professional—had no idea how much longer she could hold the line.

Pete cleared his throat softly, uneasy beneath the weight of the silence. He had the good sense to read the sharp edge in Tawan’s voice, the steel in her posture. Straightening from where he leaned against the balustrade, he glanced between the two women and forced a polite smile.

“I’ll… leave you both to it,” he said lightly, though his tone carried an undercurrent of wariness.

But before he stepped away, Ayla turned to him, fingers still on his nape. With deliberate grace, she brought her other hand up, cradling his jaw as if he were something precious. Her thumb brushed the line of his cheekbone, a gesture soft enough to appear intimate—but in this context, staged, precise, pointed.

“See you later, Pete,” she murmured, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

Pete chuckled awkwardly, as though unsure of the meaning tucked into her tone, and offered a nod. “Goodnight, Ayla.”

When he finally left, the air shifted.

The garden felt suddenly too vast, too quiet. The music from the ballroom had faded into distant echoes, and the hum of the fountain filled the silence left behind. Tawan and Ayla stood apart, but the tension between them was stretched taut, humming invisible and electric.

Neither spoke.

Tawan’s jaw worked, the words she wanted to spit out burning against her tongue, but she held them in. Ayla, for her part, seemed utterly unfazed—her poise unbroken, her face unreadable except for the faint gleam in her eyes. She smoothed the skirt of her dress, turned as if to leave, and began walking toward the path that led back to the hotel.

But Tawan’s body moved before her mind caught up.

Her hand shot out, fingers curling firmly around Ayla’s arm.

“We’re going to talk,” Tawan said, her voice low but unyielding, gravel threading through her words.

Ayla stopped, the contact halting her mid-step. Slowly, she looked down at Tawan’s hand gripping her. Her brows lifted slightly, her expression one of controlled disdain. When her gaze flicked up to meet Tawan’s eyes, it was sharp enough to cut.

“I don’t have anything to discuss with my bodyguard,” Ayla replied, cool, dismissive. Each word fell like ice between them.

And with that, she pried Tawan’s hand off her arm—unhurried, deliberate, as though she was stripping the power from Tawan’s grip by sheer force of will.

She turned, heels clicking softly against the stone as she began to walk away.

But Tawan wasn’t finished.

In two long strides, she closed the distance again, her hand seizing Ayla’s wrist this time—stronger, more desperate. Without a word, she pulled.

“Ayla—”

“Let go—”

Her protest was sharp, but Tawan didn’t falter. The command in her grip and the set of her shoulders brooked no argument. She tugged Ayla firmly, leading her out of the garden path, past the lingering couples and toward the darker stretch where the staff entrance waited.

Ayla twisted slightly, resisting, her free hand lifting as though to shove Tawan off, but the bodyguard’s hold didn’t break. Her steps, unwilling at first, fell into pace with Tawan’s stride as the hotel doors drew nearer.

The night air thickened, heavy with unsaid words, with a storm that was bound to break.

By the time they reached the van waiting at the curb, Ayla’s chest was rising and falling with shallow breaths—not from exertion, but from the tight coil of fury and something else glittering in her eyes.

And Tawan… Tawan’s grip hadn’t loosened once.

The van door slid open with a metallic clatter, the cool night air rushing in. Tawan’s grip on Ayla’s wrist was firmer than usual, not rough enough to hurt but carrying an authority that made it impossible to shake off. With a half-shove, half-guiding motion, she pushed Ayla toward the seat inside.

“Inside,” Tawan’s voice was clipped, lower than normal, the tone of someone who had run out of patience.

Ayla stumbled back a step, catching herself on the edge of the seat before lowering gracefully, chin high, lips pressed into that stubborn pout she wore so well. She sat there as if she were a queen being forced into a carriage—her back straight, her eyes sharp with defiance.

Tawan leaned in after her, shutting the door with a hard thud. “Drive,” she told the driver, her voice leaving no room for hesitation. “To the condo. Now.”

The engine hummed to life, and the van began to move. The silence that filled the interior was suffocating. The city lights passed by in fleeting streaks across the tinted windows, painting their faces in shifting shadows and gold.

Ayla crossed her legs slowly, deliberately, as if to remind Tawan she wasn’t cowed by any of this. She tilted her head back, exhaling softly through her nose, her lips curving into a cold, playful smile.

“You know,” Ayla drawled, her voice sweet but threaded with venom, “for someone who rejected me, you act awfully possessive, Tawan.”

The words sliced through the quiet like a blade.

Tawan’s head snapped toward her, eyes flashing in the dim light. Her jaw clenched, the muscle along her cheek tightening as she pinned Ayla with a sharp, dangerous gaze.

Ayla, unbothered, only smirked more, leaning slightly closer as if savoring the reaction. Her perfume lingered in the air between them, delicate and taunting all at once.

“What’s wrong, bodyguard?” Ayla’s tone was mocking now, bratty, deliberately cruel. “Upset your little idol might like someone else touching her?”

The driver’s eyes flicked nervously to the rearview mirror but wisely kept his focus on the road.

Tawan didn’t answer immediately. Her fists were balled against her knees, knuckles pale, fighting to keep her composure. The silence stretched again, charged and dangerous, as if the wrong move could ignite something explosive.

But her eyes—her sharp, burning eyes—never left Ayla.

The hum of the van filled the silence, steady and low, like the sound of a beast asleep but ready to wake. Bangkok’s streets blurred past, the neon lights streaking across the tinted glass, splashing fleeting colors over the two women inside.

Ayla leaned back into the leather seat, her arm draped casually along the rest as if this were all her stage, as if Tawan hadn’t practically dragged her out of the hotel. She tilted her head toward Tawan, her glossy lips curving into a lazy smirk.

“You didn’t answer me,” she said softly, almost sing-song, her voice dripping with deliberate provocation. “For someone who rejected me… why do you look ready to kill when Pete touches me?”

Tawan’s gaze cut to her, sharp as a blade. She didn’t speak right away, her chest rising and falling with a rhythm too controlled, too careful. Her jaw ticked, her fingers flexing against her knees as if she needed to hold them there to stop herself from acting.

Ayla noticed. She always noticed. And she leaned in closer, her perfume surrounding them both, sweet jasmine and something sharper underneath.

“Hmm,” Ayla hummed, tapping a manicured finger lightly against her chin. “Or maybe you didn’t reject me at all. Maybe you were just afraid.”

Tawan’s eyes narrowed. “Afraid of what?” The words were bitten out, low, dangerous, but Ayla only smiled wider, sensing she had struck a nerve.

“Afraid of wanting me,” Ayla purred. She crossed her legs, the fabric of her dress sliding against her skin with the faintest whisper, deliberate, unhurried. “Because you do, don’t you?”

Tawan’s silence was deafening.

Ayla tilted her head, her voice softening but sharpening at the same time, every syllable carefully chosen to sting. “You stand there, stone-faced, always pretending you don’t care. But the moment I let another man touch me—oh, suddenly the mighty Tawan loses her composure. Almost drags me out by the hair.”

Her eyes glittered as she leaned even closer, her shoulder brushing Tawan’s. “That’s not the reaction of someone who feels nothing.”

The words lingered, sweet and poisonous, until even the driver shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Tawan’s nostrils flared, her teeth clenched tight. For a moment, she looked away, as if forcing her gaze toward the blurred city lights might steady her pulse. But her hand—her hand twitched, hovering slightly, as if fighting the urge to grip Ayla’s wrist again, to remind her she couldn’t say such things without consequence.

Ayla noticed that too. She always noticed. And her smile softened, just barely, turning into something more dangerous than mockery. It was temptation now, a dare.

“Tell me, Tawan,” she whispered, her lips close enough that her breath ghosted against the bodyguard’s ear. “Was I wrong?”

The van felt smaller suddenly, the air heavy, suffocating.

Tawan turned her head sharply, their eyes locking in the dim interior. Her gaze was like steel, furious and unreadable all at once. Ayla stared back, unflinching, her bratty defiance shimmering with something far more complicated beneath.

The city roared outside, but inside that van—only the storm between them existed.

 

The van slowed, then pulled to a stop in front of Ayla’s condo tower, its sleek façade glowing against the night sky. The driver glanced at the rearview mirror, uncertain whether to say anything, but one look at Tawan’s expression—the hard line of her jaw, the ice in her eyes—kept him silent.

Tawan’s grip on Ayla’s wrist hadn’t loosened since the hotel. Her palm was hot against Ayla’s skin, her fingers tight enough to make a point but not enough to bruise. The contact was a chain, an anchor, a warning.

“We’re here,” Tawan said curtly, her voice flat, steady.

But Ayla didn’t move. She leaned back into the seat, deliberately pulling against the hold, her lips curling into that same infuriating smile. “Oh, am I supposed to thank you now? For dragging me home like some disobedient child?”

Her words dripped with defiance, but her eyes—sharp, searching—never left Tawan’s.

“Get out,” Tawan ordered, tugging her wrist firmly.

Ayla only laughed, low and soft, the sound curling through the van like smoke. “No. Why don’t you carry me instead? Isn’t that what you’re dying to do anyway?”

Tawan’s jaw tightened, her patience fraying thread by thread. She pulled harder, forcing Ayla to slide toward the door. “Don’t test me, Ayla.”

“Oh, but I love testing you,” Ayla whispered, leaning close enough that Tawan could feel her breath warm against her cheek. “Because every time, you break just a little.”

That was the last straw.

Tawan yanked the door open and almost shoved Ayla out onto the pavement. Ayla stumbled, catching herself on the side of the van, but her smile never faltered—it only widened, wicked and triumphant.

“Careful,” she teased, brushing her hair back from her face. “Someone might think you can’t control yourself around me.”

Tawan’s hand shot out again, seizing Ayla’s wrist before she could slip away. The grip was firmer this time, her knuckles white, her eyes dark with something Ayla couldn’t quite name.

The security guard by the entrance straightened, about to approach, but Tawan’s sharp glance made him freeze in place. He looked away quickly, pretending not to notice.

Dragging Ayla with her, Tawan marched across the lobby, ignoring the curious stares. Ayla didn’t resist—at least not with her body. Her steps matched Tawan’s, deliberate, graceful, but her tongue was as sharp as ever.

“You know,” Ayla murmured, tilting her head toward Tawan, “most people knock before barging into someone’s home.”

Tawan didn’t answer. She only tightened her grip, hauling Ayla toward the private elevator.

The ride up was thick with silence, the air charged, almost unbearable. Ayla leaned against the mirrored wall, her eyes fixed on Tawan’s reflection, studying every flicker of restraint etched across her features.

“You don’t usually cross lines,” Ayla said softly, breaking the silence. “But tonight… you followed me inside without hesitation. I must be special.”

Tawan’s reflection flickered—eyes narrowing, mouth pressed into a hard line—but still she said nothing.

When the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, Ayla stepped out slowly, deliberately dragging her feet, forcing Tawan to pull her along. The plush carpet of the condo corridor muffled their footsteps, but the weight of the moment was deafening.

At her door, Ayla turned, leaning back against it, their wrists still bound together by Tawan’s relentless grip. Her free hand slid up the edge of the doorframe, casual, careless, as her lips curved into something softer than mockery but far more dangerous.

“So?” she breathed, her voice husky now, not quite a taunt and not quite a plea. “Are you coming in, bodyguard?”

For the first time, Tawan didn’t hesitate. She shoved Ayla gently but firmly across the threshold, stepping in with her, the door slamming shut behind them.

The line Tawan had guarded for years had just been crossed—and Ayla knew it.

 

The condo door slammed shut with a dull thud behind them, sealing the silence of Ayla’s private world around them. The faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the quiet hum of the city outside. Tawan’s hand was still around Ayla’s wrist, firm but not bruising, her knuckles tight from the restraint she had forced on herself all evening. When she finally released her, Ayla didn’t step back—instead, she tilted her chin higher, her lips curving into that infuriating, stubborn half-smile that only sharpened the sting of her earlier games.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Tawan’s voice cut through the stillness, low and sharp. She stood rigid, shoulders tense, chest rising and falling with the effort of keeping her anger contained. “Every careless move you make, every little performance with Pete—it’s reckless. It’s dangerous. You think you’re untouchable, but you’re not. And when you don’t listen—”

“I didn’t ask you to care,” Ayla snapped, her voice smooth and bratty, yet carrying a faint tremor. She folded her arms, standing only a few centimeters taller, but making every bit of that height count, looking down at Tawan like she was daring her to keep going. “You’re my bodyguard. That’s all. Your job is to protect me, not to tell me how to live.”

Tawan’s jaw locked, the muscles working as she fought to keep her composure. “When the way you live puts you at risk, when it makes my job impossible, then yes—I will tell you. Because clearly, you don’t care enough about yourself.”

Ayla’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of hurt crossing them before she masked it with another smirk. She stepped closer, closing the little space between them, her voice quiet but cutting. “And what will you do if I don’t listen? Hm? You’ll scold me again like a child? Or maybe—” she leaned in just enough for her breath to fan against Tawan’s jaw, “—you’ll walk away?”

Tawan’s breath caught, her body stiffening. For the first time tonight, her control slipped. Her eyes darkened, her voice low and threatening. “If you keep this up, Ayla, I will resign.”

The words seemed to echo in the condo. Ayla froze, her lips parting slightly, the bratty mask faltering as her eyes glistened—hurt flashing through them faster than she could hide it. Her throat worked as if she wanted to swallow it down, but she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head, eyes sharp with a mix of pain and defiance.

“Then go,” she whispered, her voice trembling but wrapped in stubbornness. “Do it. Leave. That way you don’t have to put up with me anymore.”

Tawan’s chest heaved, her hands curling into fists at her sides. She could see the sheen in Ayla’s eyes, the way her voice cracked despite her act. And yet Ayla pushed further, throwing gasoline on the fire.

“You think I need you here?” Ayla continued, her tone rising with every word. “You think I can’t walk into rehearsals, into cameras, into everything without you watching my every move? Try me, Tawan. Leave me. Because maybe…” her lips twisted into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “…maybe Pete would take better care of me than you ever did.”

That was the final spark. Tawan’s eyes flared, her anger and something deeper—something far more dangerous—crashing together until it was impossible to separate. She stepped forward, closing the gap so suddenly that Ayla had to stumble back a little, her shoulders brushing against the wall. The air between them thickened, charged with the tension neither of them could escape.

But Ayla didn’t back down. She lifted her chin again, even as her chest rose unevenly, her voice soft but defiant.

“Go on, Tawan. Say it again. Tell me you’ll resign. Tell me you don’t care. Because if you do…” her eyes glistened, daring, breaking all at once, “…then maybe I’ll finally believe it.”

 

The air between them was already razor-thin, stretched so tight it threatened to tear. And then, without another warning, it did.

Tawan moved.

Her hand shot out, catching Ayla’s wrist in a swift, uncompromising grip. The sound of it—skin against skin, the sudden thud as Ayla’s arm hit the wall—echoed louder than it should have in the small space. Tawan’s strength was undeniable; her palm flattened against Ayla’s delicate wrist, forcing it high above her head and pinning it there like it was nothing.

Ayla gasped, a sharp intake of air that broke the silence like glass shattering. Her chest lifted with it, pressing forward, her body caught in the cage Tawan created. For the first time, her composure cracked—not because of fear, but because of the heat that surged through her veins at the roughness of it. Her pulse throbbed under Tawan’s fingers, betraying her.

“You—” Her voice faltered before she caught it, forcing the smirk back onto her lips even as her breath came uneven. “You really don’t know the meaning of gentle, do you?”

Tawan’s eyes were molten now, dark, unblinking. Her grip didn’t falter, didn’t soften. “You don’t deserve gentle when you keep pushing like this.” Her voice was low, a growl buried under restraint that was slipping by the second.

Ayla’s lips parted in a shaky laugh, though her eyes flickered with something else—excitement, hunger, the sharp ache of being exactly where she shouldn’t want to be. “Oh? So this is you protecting me? By holding me down?”

Tawan leaned in, her forehead nearly brushing Ayla’s, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “No. This is me stopping you before you say something you’ll regret.”

But Ayla only gasped again, not from fear—from the closeness, from the way her own body betrayed her, arching ever so slightly into the pressure. Her free hand twitched at her side, aching to push, to grab, to fight back—but she didn’t move. She stayed there, pinned, taunting.

“You think I regret anything when it comes to you?” she breathed, her lips curving even as her voice shook. “You left me once, Tawan. If you think pinning me to a wall is going to scare me away now, you really don’t know me at all.”

Tawan’s breath hissed between her teeth, ragged, strained. Her self-control trembled on the edge of breaking entirely. Her eyes darted down—against her will—to Ayla’s lips again, and this time they lingered.

Ayla saw it. And the brat in her lit up, even as her pulse thundered. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, her voice soft, goading. “Afraid you’ll lose more than your temper if you kiss me?”

The words were gasoline on fire.

Tawan’s hold tightened on her wrist, firm enough to make Ayla’s knees weaken. Her other hand slammed flat against the wall beside Ayla’s head, caging her completely. Ayla was caught—trapped between the wall and the woman she’d wanted for years, the woman whose fury was as intoxicating as her silence.

And still—still—Ayla smirked through her unsteady breaths. “Go ahead then. Show me what you’ve been holding back all this time. Or are you just going to stand there pretending you don’t want to?”

Tawan’s chest heaved, her jaw clenched, every muscle in her body pulled taut like a bowstring. She was seconds away from snapping, from doing something she couldn’t take back.

Seconds away—

 

Tawan snapped.

The last thread of restraint unraveled, and in the space of a heartbeat she crushed her mouth against Ayla’s. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t careful. It was furious, consuming—like every unspoken word, every buried feeling from the years apart had finally exploded all at once.

Their lips clashed, hard and bruising, teeth catching against each other in the messy collision. Ayla gasped into the kiss, a sound half-surprise, half-pleasure, her body jerking against the wall under the sheer force of it. But instead of pulling back, instead of pushing away, she leaned in—meeting the storm with her own.

Tawan’s hand pinned her wrist tighter above her head, while her other palm pressed flat against the wall beside Ayla’s temple, boxing her in, keeping her there. She tilted her head, demanding more, her mouth insistent as she forced Ayla open. Her tongue pressed forward, seeking, pushing, not asking—taking.

Ayla let her. Her lips parted under the pressure, and the moment Tawan’s tongue slid past, Ayla moaned—low, broken, utterly unguarded. She caught it between her own, answering with equal fire, sucking Tawan’s tongue into her mouth as if daring her to go further. The taste of her was overwhelming—heat, sharpness, something that burned and soothed all at once.

The sound of their breathing filled the air, harsh and uneven, mingling with the wet, urgent pull of mouths locked together. Ayla’s free hand fisted at her side, nails digging into her palm as her body arched involuntarily toward Tawan’s weight. She was still bratty even in surrender—the small, satisfied hum that vibrated in her throat was proof of it—but the way she kissed back left no doubt. She wanted this. She wanted her.

Tawan growled into her mouth, the sound rough and guttural, her tongue pressing deeper, sweeping over Ayla’s until she claimed every inch. Each movement was a battle and a surrender all at once, their mouths moving in frantic sync, too much and not enough.

Ayla broke away just enough to gasp for breath, her lips swollen, eyes glazed, but her voice was still laced with that dangerous, playful edge. “Is this… what you were afraid of, Tawan?” she whispered, breath hitching against Tawan’s mouth. “Because if it is… you should’ve lost control a long time ago.”

Tawan didn’t answer. She kissed her again, harder, silencing the words with the only language that mattered now—teeth, lips, tongue, and the raw, unshakable need that had finally been unleashed.

 

Tawan tore her mouth away, her chest heaving, lips wet and swollen from the force of the kiss.

For a split second, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Ayla’s head jerked forward instinctively, chasing the warmth, chasing the taste, like she couldn’t stand the sudden distance. Her lips parted as if to pull Tawan back down, a small, desperate sound slipping past before she caught herself. The sight of her—cheeks flushed, eyes dark and burning, hair mussed where it brushed the wall—nearly undid Tawan all over again.

Tawan’s voice came out rough, ragged, as though dragged from her throat. “Look at you,” she muttered, eyes flicking down over Ayla’s kiss-swollen mouth, lingering at the wet shine left behind. “You don’t even realize what you look like right now.”

Ayla’s chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts, her bratty smirk tugging at the corner of her lips despite the haze in her gaze. “And what do I look like, hm?” she shot back, taunting, though her voice wavered from the weight of her own pulse.

Tawan leaned in just close enough that their breaths tangled again, her lips hovering a fraction from Ayla’s. She let the silence stretch, cruel and heavy, before delivering her words like a knife.

“Like someone begging to be ruined.”

Ayla’s pupils widened, her mouth parting with a sharp inhale, but Tawan didn’t stop. Her grip on Ayla’s wrists above her head tightened, pinning her harder into the wall, her body pressing flush to hers now in a way that left no escape.

“Maybe that’s why you keep pushing me,” Tawan went on, her tone low, edged with dangerous heat. “Because what you really want is for me to snap. To take you hard. To strip all that bratty defiance right out of you.”

Ayla’s laugh was breathless, shaky, almost a whimper in disguise. “Bold of you to assume I’d let you.”

But the way her hips shifted just slightly against Tawan’s body betrayed her. The way her gaze flickered hungrily to Tawan’s mouth betrayed her. The way her tongue darted out to wet her lips—oh, that betrayed her most of all.

Tawan’s mouth curved into something feral, a half-smile that held no softness, only certainty. She dipped her head closer, her lips brushing the corner of Ayla’s, teasing, refusing to give her what she was clearly trying to steal back.

“You’re already letting me,” Tawan whispered, her breath hot against Ayla’s skin. “And the worst part? You like it.”

Ayla’s body shivered, her bravado hanging by threads. Yet even as her breath hitched, her words still came out sharp, defiant, threaded with need. “Then stop talking… and prove it.”

And just like that, the fragile thread of Tawan’s control snapped all over again. She crashed back down into Ayla’s lips, their mouths colliding with the same raw, furious hunger as before—two storms colliding, neither willing to yield, both burning to consume.

---

The second kiss was nothing like the first.

It wasn’t careful or testing—it was all teeth, tongue, and breathless need. Tawan devoured Ayla’s mouth, swallowed her little gasps, punished her with every hungry drag of lips and bite of teeth. Ayla gave back just as recklessly, tugging against Tawan’s hold as if daring her to press harder, to pin her even more completely.

The wall behind her rattled faintly from the force of it.

Ayla broke away with a sharp gasp, her chin tilting up, eyes half-lidded yet still gleaming with that infuriating defiance. Her lips were red, slick, shining in the dim light. “That all you’ve got?” she taunted, her voice rasped raw from the kiss. “I thought you were supposed to break me.”

Tawan’s answering growl vibrated low in her chest. “Careful what you wish for.”

Her hand slid down, palm flattening against Ayla’s chest through the thin barrier of fabric. Not gentle—never gentle. She pressed hard enough for Ayla to feel the full weight of her grip, her thumb dragging slow across the curve.

Ayla’s breath stuttered. Just for a second. Just long enough for Tawan to catch it.

“You…” Tawan’s voice was a low rasp against Ayla’s ear, her lips brushing close enough to graze. “…keep acting like you’re untouchable. Like you’re in control.” Her hand pressed harder through the fabric, making Ayla’s back arch off the wall. “But your body tells me otherwise.”

Ayla’s laugh was shaky, broken up by her own uneven breathing, but she still smirked, still tilted her chin in challenge. “Maybe I just like watching you lose control.”

That bratty jab lit Tawan up like a spark to kindling.

Her mouth crashed back onto Ayla’s, rougher, messier—tongues clashing, teeth scraping. The kiss turned into a battle neither wanted to win, only to draw out until they were both trembling with the need to keep going.

Tawan swallowed Ayla’s taunts, her free hand still pinning Ayla’s wrists, her palm on Ayla’s breast squeezing through the cloth in a way that drew a muffled, unwilling sound from the back of Ayla’s throat.

The noise went straight to Tawan’s gut, flooding her with something dangerous, something intoxicating.

She pulled back just enough to see Ayla’s face again—flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark with heat yet still burning with that damned fire.

“Say it again,” Tawan demanded, her tone sharp, breath ragged. Her thumb dragged across fabric with deliberate pressure. “Say you like this.”

Ayla’s smirk wavered, trembled, but she held it anyway, defiance trembling on her lips. “You first.”

And once more, they were lost in each other, devouring and daring, messy and raw, the space between them charged like a live wire ready to burn them both.

 

The kiss broke only because Ayla turned her head, gasping for air, her chest heaving against Tawan’s. Her smirk trembled but it was still there, still daring. “Is that all, bodyguard?” she breathed, the words deliberately mocking, though her voice cracked just enough to betray how ragged she felt.

Tawan didn’t answer with words.

Her mouth dropped to Ayla’s throat, dragging her lips down the delicate line, teeth grazing skin before biting just hard enough to make Ayla gasp and arch against the wall. Ayla writhed in her grip, but not to escape—her body only seemed to curve into Tawan’s touch, like she couldn’t help herself.

“Careful,” Ayla managed, breath shivering as Tawan’s mouth marked her. “Leave a bruise and they’ll all know what you—ah—”

Her taunt cut off in a sharp sound when Tawan’s teeth closed around the base of her neck, sucking until Ayla’s knees almost buckled. Tawan’s hand slid from pinning down her wrist to roaming lower, rough palm dragging over her side, down her waist, gripping the curve of her hip like she owned it.

Ayla’s body betrayed her—arching into every point of contact.

Tawan pulled back just enough to look at her, lips bruised from their kisses, her dark eyes burning. “You don’t get to tease me about bruises when you beg for them,” she rasped.

Her hand swept upward again, this time finding the swell of Ayla’s breast. Even through the fabric, her fingers pressed, kneaded, drew another sound out of Ayla’s throat that the brat tried to smother with a bitten lip.

Tawan didn’t let her hide it. She bent lower, her mouth tracing downward, brushing against fabric as she followed the slope of Ayla’s neckline. Her breath burned against skin until she reached the swell of her chest, nipping and kissing just above where the cloth barred her way.

Ayla’s hands trembled against the wall, her back arching helplessly. “Tawan—” It came out half a moan, half a protest, as if she didn’t know which side she wanted to lean into.

Tawan’s other hand slid lower, slow, deliberate, slipping past the hem of Ayla’s dress. Her knuckles grazed the inside of Ayla’s thigh, fingertips trailing higher until they brushed silk. Heat radiated through the thin fabric, and the dampness there made Tawan’s breath catch.

A dangerous smirk tugged at her lips. “So wet already,” she murmured against Ayla’s skin, her voice low and rough, vibrating against the curve of Ayla’s breast.

Her fingers traced the line of Ayla’s panties, slow, teasing, not quite giving, only pressing just enough for Ayla to feel the deliberate path. The reaction was immediate—Ayla’s hips jerked, her head falling back against the wall, a low moan escaping before she could stop it.

And still, she managed to drag in a breath, to lift her chin with that stubborn fire. “D-don’t get cocky… just because…”

Tawan’s lips curved against her chest, her touch lingering over the damp cloth. “Because what?” she pressed, her voice a growl against skin.

Ayla bit her lip, fighting, but the shiver that ran through her body answered for her.

The cool surface of the condo wall pressed against Ayla’s back as Tawan’s body held her there, her wrist still pinned above her head. The earlier laughter and mocking smirks on Ayla’s lips were now fractured, shaken apart by the way Tawan’s hand moved with ruthless precision between her thighs.

Tawan’s fingers had already breached the lace of her panties, sliding deep where Ayla was helplessly wet. The sensation made Ayla’s breath hitch violently, her head falling back against the wall as though she didn’t know whether to tilt up or down, left or right, desperate for relief she refused to name.

Her mouth opened, words half-formed, but Tawan swallowed them with another harsh kiss. Her lips bruised, her tongue commanding, as though to remind Ayla who held the control now.

“You’re not so mouthy anymore,” Tawan murmured against her lips, voice low, edged with a hunger that made Ayla’s knees weaken.

Ayla tried to summon another sharp retort—another bratty jab—but it broke into a gasp as Tawan’s fingers curled inside her, stroking with devastating rhythm. Her hips betrayed her, rocking forward on instinct, chasing the friction no matter how her pride fought to resist.

Tawan noticed instantly. She broke their kiss just enough to watch Ayla’s face, to see the defiance flicker into helpless pleasure. Her lips curved into a dark, knowing smile.
“Look at you,” she rasped, her breath hot against Ayla’s cheek. “Grinding on my hand like you can’t help yourself. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

A whimper slipped from Ayla’s throat—high, broken—before she bit her lip to choke it back. Her free hand clawed at Tawan’s shirt, nails digging through fabric as though to anchor herself.

“Say it,” Tawan demanded, her voice harsher now, her fingers thrusting deeper in perfect time with the command. “Beg me, Ayla. I want to hear it.”

Ayla shook her head, panting, clinging to the last scraps of her bratty pride.
“N–never,” she whispered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Tawan leaned closer, her mouth at Ayla’s ear, her words filthy and deliberate.
“Then keep rocking on my fingers like the needy little slut you are,” she hissed. “Your body already begged for me long before your lips will.”

The words undid something inside Ayla. Her back arched, her head finally tipping to the side, lips parting in a desperate moan she couldn’t contain. Her hips moved faster against Tawan’s hand, no longer controlled, no longer measured—just raw, helpless surrender.

Her sharp laughter, her cocky grin, the endless challenges—all of it melted, scattered in the air between them. In their place was only Ayla’s ragged breathing, the shattered sound of her voice as her body betrayed her pride again and again.

And Tawan, lips at her throat, drinking in every sound, every tremor, every surrender she pulled out of her.

 

.

The sound of their breathing filled the condo—ragged, uneven, almost louder than the soft hum of the city lights spilling in through the balcony windows. Ayla’s back was still trapped against the wall, her wrists bound in Tawan’s unyielding grip. Her panties had been shoved aside, Tawan’s fingers sliding inside her with ruthless purpose.

Ayla bit her lip hard, her eyes flashing with stubborn fire even as her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts. The pleasure that coursed through her made her body quake, but her mouth refused to surrender.

“You think… you’ve won?” she panted, a smirk twitching at her lips even though it was weak, fragile. “I could stop you anytime I want.”

Tawan’s dark gaze flicked up to meet hers, sharp and unreadable. Her lips curved in the faintest, mocking smile.
“Then stop me,” she challenged, her tone low, almost amused. At the same moment, her fingers curled inside Ayla with devastating precision, stroking that spot that made Ayla’s knees buckle.

A broken gasp escaped Ayla before she could swallow it back, her head tipping against the wall, her body betraying the bravado that still clung to her words. Her hips rocked down instinctively, chasing the rhythm, even as she forced out another shaky taunt.
“Th-that all you’ve got?”

The sound that came from Tawan was a dark chuckle, quiet but merciless. Her mouth brushed over Ayla’s jaw, her voice threading filth into her ear.
“You’re dripping all over my hand, baby. Don’t pretend you’re not loving every second of this.”

Ayla trembled, her free hand clawing desperately at Tawan’s shoulder, as if she needed something to ground her. Her bratty grin flickered, faltered, then snapped back into place.
“I’m… not begging.”

But her body spoke differently. Each thrust of Tawan’s fingers made her walls tighten, drawing her closer and closer to the edge she swore she wouldn’t fall from. Her thighs trembled, her breath stuttered, and a soft whimper slipped past her lips no matter how she tried to smother it.

Tawan felt it—the way Ayla’s body was starting to flutter, to grip, to tremble around her fingers. That telltale tightening that betrayed her impending climax.

And then, with cruel precision, Tawan pulled out.

The sudden emptiness was devastating. Ayla’s cry was sharp, almost a scream, torn from her throat before she could bite it back. Her head snapped forward, her eyes wide with disbelief as if Tawan had stolen the ground from under her feet.

“You—” her voice cracked, fury and frustration mixing with the raw ache of denied release. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, I can,” Tawan cut in smoothly, her tone infuriatingly calm, her fingers glistening in the dim light as she deliberately withdrew her hand to Ayla’s thigh. She leaned in close, her breath hot against Ayla’s ear, her voice dropping to a growl that was both filthy and commanding.
“You want more? Then beg.”

Ayla’s chest heaved, her pride clawing desperately for a foothold even as her body trembled with need. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, chasing the friction that had just been stolen from her, but Tawan’s knee nudged them apart again with authority.

“Not happening,” Ayla hissed, her smirk shaky but present, as though she could still bluff her way through the fire burning low in her belly. “I don’t beg.”

Tawan tilted her head, studying Ayla like a predator watching its prey squirm. Slowly, she licked her bottom lip, eyes never leaving Ayla’s.
“Then you don’t come,” she said simply. Her hand hovered just close enough to Ayla’s soaked heat to torment her, her fingers brushing lightly but never giving.

The tease made Ayla’s breath hitch, her body jerking toward the touch involuntarily. A frustrated sound tore from her throat, half-growl, half-moan.

“You—god, you’re insufferable,” Ayla spat, her bravado cracking around the edges, her body trembling with want.

Tawan’s smile deepened, her tone dipping darker.
“Say the words, Ayla. Tell me what you need. Or I’ll keep you trembling like this all night.”

The condo was thick with tension, silence pressing in around their ragged breaths. Ayla’s pride burned, battling her body’s desperate cries, her bratty smirk flickering like a flame fighting against a storm.

And Tawan—patient, merciless—waited, fingers still poised at the edge of Ayla’s surrender, ready to destroy her last defense with one slow, devastating touch.

 

The tension in Ayla’s condo was unbearable—thick with heat, defiance, and the thrum of something raw neither of them could stop anymore. Ayla’s back was pressed hard against the wall, her chest heaving, lips swollen from Tawan’s rough kisses. Her wrists still tingled from where Tawan had pinned them earlier, the ghost of dominance lingering on her skin.

But Ayla refused to crumble, even with her dress rucked up high on her thighs, her pulse pounding against her throat. “You think I’ll give you what you want that easily?” she sneered breathlessly, even as her legs betrayed her, parting ever so slightly.

Tawan’s eyes burned like embers in the dim glow of the condo lights. She crouched down slowly, like a predator savoring the moment, her palms firm as they slid along Ayla’s thighs. Her thumbs pressed into the soft flesh just above Ayla’s knees, forcing them wider. The gesture was patient, unhurried—but her grip was unrelenting, a silent warning that resistance only amused her.

When she finally knelt fully, her face level with Ayla’s soaked panties, the sight alone drew a gasp from Ayla’s throat. Tawan let her gaze linger there, not hiding how much she enjoyed watching Ayla squirm. Then, without a word, she hooked her fingers into the delicate fabric and tore it aside with one decisive motion. The rip echoed sharp and deliberate, and Ayla shivered so hard she had to clutch the wall for balance.

The air was cool against her now-bared skin, but Tawan’s presence made it burn. She leaned in close, close enough for Ayla to feel the ghost of her breath against her wetness—but she didn’t touch. Not yet.

Ayla’s entire body jolted when Tawan dragged one finger teasingly through her folds, slow enough to be maddening. Not entering. Not satisfying. Just enough to remind her of what she’d lost when Tawan pulled out earlier. Her hips jerked instinctively, but Tawan held her thigh in place with a bruising grip.

“Look at you,” Tawan murmured, her voice low, rough, and threaded with dangerous satisfaction. “So wet. So desperate. And still pretending you’re in control.”

Ayla’s hands shot down, tangling in Tawan’s dark hair. She yanked, almost pleading without saying the words, trying to force Tawan closer. “Shut up,” she hissed, her voice trembling with both defiance and need. “Just—do it.”

But Tawan didn’t move an inch. Her mouth hovered maddeningly close, so close Ayla swore she could feel the heat of her lips, but Tawan stayed perfectly still. The tension between them only grew sharper.

“No.” Tawan’s voice was calm, deliberate, and it sliced right through Ayla’s defenses. “Not until you beg.”

Ayla gasped, pulling Tawan’s head forward harder, but Tawan resisted, unyielding as stone. That defiance—the mirror of her own brattiness—made Ayla’s thighs tremble.

Her heart thundered, her body burning from the inside out. Every second of Tawan’s refusal made it worse, made her wetter, made her need spike higher. Her bratty smirk faltered, twisting into something rawer, hungrier.

Still, she tried one last time. “You—you think I’m going to beg?” she snapped, breathless, though her grip in Tawan’s hair only tightened. “In your dreams.”

Tawan only smiled up at her, slow and wicked, her dark eyes glinting like she’d already won. She gave another teasing stroke over Ayla’s drenched folds with the pad of her finger, lighter this time, cruelly featherlike, just enough to make Ayla’s knees buckle.

“Then stay on the edge forever,” Tawan said, her voice gravelly, thick with both promise and threat. “Until you admit exactly what you want from me.”

The words made Ayla shudder all over again, her bratty resistance fighting a losing battle against the fire in her body.

And still—Tawan didn’t move.

 

Ayla’s legs trembled where she stood, one heel slipping slightly against the polished floor as her body fought to hold itself upright. Her dress was bunched high on her hips, torn lace brushing against her skin where Tawan had ripped her panties, leaving her bare and exposed in the cool air of her own condo. But the greater heat came from below—where Tawan knelt, steady and immovable, dark eyes fixed on Ayla with the sharp patience of a predator who knew her prey would break eventually.

Tawan’s breath fanned against the sensitive skin of Ayla’s inner thigh, maddeningly close yet deliberately refusing to close the last inch of distance. Her strong hands pinned Ayla in place, one splayed against the curve of her hip, the other steadying her thigh so Ayla couldn’t squirm away—nor could she bring herself to. Every brush of air, every subtle graze of Tawan’s knuckles across her slick heat sent Ayla shuddering, a ragged gasp tearing from her lips no matter how she tried to bite it back.

“Still holding out?” Tawan murmured, her voice husky and taunting, each word dripping with control. Her thumb teased the edge of Ayla’s swollen wetness, never pressing fully, just circling lazily like she had all the time in the world. “All that attitude... but your body’s begging without you even saying a word.”

Ayla clenched her jaw, her nails digging into Tawan’s dark hair as if she could drag her forward by sheer force of will. “Shut up—” Her voice cracked, breathless, betraying how close she was to losing grip. She pushed down hard, almost desperate, trying to guide Tawan’s mouth to where she needed it most.

But Tawan only chuckled low, resisting easily, holding herself back like a wall. “Not enough, Ayla.” Her lips brushed lightly over Ayla’s inner thigh, then shifted to the other, planting slow, taunting kisses that sent sparks racing upward. “You think you can still boss me around?”

Ayla’s legs buckled slightly, and she caught herself against the wall behind her, panting hard. Her bratty retorts slipped into ragged gasps as her body betrayed her. Still, she clung to pride, lifting her chin even as her voice wavered. “I—don’t need to beg. You’ll… you’ll give in anyway—”

Tawan’s mouth curved into a dangerous smirk against her skin. Without warning, she let two fingers drag teasingly through Ayla’s slick folds, slow enough to make Ayla’s hips jerk forward involuntarily. But when Ayla moaned—high, unguarded, and trembling—Tawan pulled back again, leaving her shaking.

Ayla nearly screamed. Her chest heaved, her grip in Tawan’s hair trembling between wanting to shove her forward and wanting to collapse altogether.

Tawan tilted her head up, eyes locking onto Ayla’s flushed, desperate face. Her voice dropped low, husky, commanding: “Say it. Beg me.”

Ayla’s lips parted, but pride still tangled with need. “N-no—” she gasped, only for her voice to shiver as Tawan’s fingers traced her again, unbearably slow.

Her thighs trembled violently now, heat coiling tighter and tighter inside her belly, pushing her closer to a cliff she couldn’t climb down from. When Tawan suddenly withdrew once more, leaving her throbbing and empty, Ayla’s cry broke loose, sharp and frustrated, echoing in the condo’s quiet.

Tawan leaned back just a fraction, making sure Ayla could see the smugness in her dark eyes. “Then keep suffering,” she whispered. “You don’t get what you want until you give me what I asked for.”

Ayla’s body arched, her pride crumbling in the weight of her need. Her fingers tugged at Tawan’s hair, no longer forceful but desperate, pulling her closer with trembling urgency. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as she finally—finally—gave in, the word falling from her lips like a surrender:

“Please...”

Tawan didn’t move. Her smirk widened, merciless. “Louder.”

Ayla’s whole body shuddered as if struck. Pride clawed at her chest, but the unbearable ache between her legs tore the last of it away. She tipped her head back, voice breaking as she cried out, louder this time, raw and honest:

“Please, Tawan! I’m begging you—please!”

The moment the words spilled, the condo filled with the heavy silence of her surrender—Ayla’s body trembling, Tawan’s control absolute, the air between them charged and ready to ignite.

 

The condo was quiet but for the low hum of the city beyond the balcony glass, Bangkok’s neon glow spilling through the curtains and painting Ayla’s flushed skin with shifting colors. Her breath came shallow and uneven, her body pinned against the couch where Tawan held her. She had begged—finally, breathless and broken down—and that was when Tawan gave in.

Tawan lowered her head slowly, deliberately, her dark hair brushing against Ayla’s thighs as she pressed closer. Ayla trembled, fingers tightening in Tawan’s hair until her knuckles went white. When Tawan’s tongue finally slid across her, a sharp cry escaped Ayla’s lips, her head tipping back against the couch. Her body jolted like she’d been struck by something electric, her chest heaving with the sudden flood of sensation.

Tawan licked her again, slower this time, savoring the way Ayla’s legs threatened to close around her head. She placed a firm hand against Ayla’s thigh, forcing her open. “Don’t hide from me,” she muttered, her voice low and commanding, reverberating against Ayla’s most sensitive place.

“Ta—Tawan…” Ayla’s voice broke, her nails scraping lightly against Tawan’s scalp, torn between pulling her closer and pushing her away. Her bratty sharpness, the snide remarks she had clung to like armor, were dissolving with every stroke of Tawan’s tongue. Now her words came out as breathless pleas, her body betraying her defiance.

Tawan leaned back just enough to let her lips hover, her breath hot against Ayla’s soaked skin. “Sweet,” she murmured, licking her lips as if tasting the word itself. Her dark eyes flicked upward to meet Ayla’s, a dangerous smirk playing on her mouth. “You taste so sweet, Ayla… Tell me—did Pete ever taste you here?”

Ayla’s body jerked at the name, her breath hitching. She wanted to retort, to toss another bratty quip at Tawan, but all that came out was a strangled moan as her hips rocked helplessly forward, chasing Tawan’s mouth. She refused to give an answer, refused to let Tawan have that satisfaction.

Tawan’s expression hardened. She pulled back slightly, just far enough that the sudden absence left Ayla gasping, her entire body aching with the denial. Tawan’s palm pressed firmly against Ayla’s trembling thigh, keeping her in place as she said, “Answer me.” Her voice was sharp, unyielding, each word edged with command.

“Tawan…” Ayla whined, her face twisting, her body restless with need. She tried to push Tawan closer again, gripping her hair with both hands, but Tawan didn’t budge.

“Answer me,” Tawan repeated, her gaze steady, merciless. “Did he taste you? Did anyone?”

The silence stretched, broken only by Ayla’s ragged breaths and the sound of her shifting restlessly against the couch cushions. Finally, with her chest rising and falling like she had just run a race, Ayla gasped out, “No.”

Her voice cracked on the word, her throat dry. She squeezed her eyes shut as if confessing burned her. “…No one ever… no one ever did.”

For a moment, Tawan stilled, watching her. The confession landed between them heavy and raw, more intimate than the heat that clung to the air. Slowly, Tawan’s smirk returned, but softer now, almost reverent.

Her lips lowered again, pressing against Ayla’s trembling heat, and this time there was no hesitation. She licked her deeply, hungrily, drinking in every sound that spilled from Ayla’s lips.

Ayla’s back arched violently, her head tipping back so far she nearly lost herself against the couch cushions. Her moans broke through the air, sharp and unrestrained, her bratty stubbornness completely undone. Fingers knotted in Tawan’s hair, she gasped and cried, her words tumbling into incoherent pleas as Tawan continued, relentless and merciless.

“Good,” Tawan murmured between licks, her voice vibrating against Ayla’s skin, rough with possession. “You’re mine then… all mine.”

Ayla’s only reply was a shuddering moan, her body trembling under the weight of the pleasure Tawan gave her, the city lights outside flickering like fire against her skin.

Ayla’s back pressed hard against the wall of her condo, her breath already ragged, when Tawan’s mouth finally closed in on her. The sharp spark of tongue against her softness tore a broken moan from her throat, loud, desperate, and far too revealing of how far she’d been pushed. She tried to tilt her head back, to bite her lip and silence herself, but the sound escaped anyway — shameless and raw.

Her legs trembled, but before she could lose her balance, she instinctively lifted one thigh, bracing it against Tawan’s shoulder. That single movement opened her further, made her feel exposed and possessed all at once. Tawan’s dark eyes flicked upward from where she knelt, their gazes locking for one dizzying heartbeat. Then Tawan buried deeper, tongue working with relentless pressure that sent Ayla’s pulse skittering into chaos.

Ayla’s hand flew down, fisting tight into Tawan’s black hair. She tugged — not to push away, but to ground herself, to keep from flying apart. Every stroke of tongue, every teasing flick made her hips twitch, made her chest heave with unsteady breaths. “T-Tawan…” Ayla’s voice was cracked, both defiant and begging at once, as though she couldn’t decide whether to curse her or plead for more.

The heat building in her core was unbearable now, a storm that coiled tighter with every passing second. And then Tawan’s hand moved — sliding boldly between Ayla’s thighs. Two fingers pressed inside, slow at first, stretching her, before curling forward with ruthless precision. Ayla’s body arched violently, her head slamming back against the wall with a low cry.

Tongue and fingers worked together, pulling her higher, stealing away any thought of resistance. Ayla’s moans turned louder, spilling shamelessly from her lips — lewd, helpless sounds she couldn’t control even if she tried. Her hand tugged harder on Tawan’s hair, nails scraping lightly against her scalp as her hips rocked forward, seeking, demanding.

The pleasure was spiraling now, dragging her under in thick waves. Her thighs quivered, her breathing grew ragged, and the tight coil inside her threatened to snap. Tawan seemed to sense it, because just as Ayla’s body began to tremble on the edge, she dragged her tongue up in one long, devastating lick that left Ayla shuddering.

“Tawan—ahh!” Ayla’s scream split the room, raw and piercing. Her entire body jolted violently as the climax tore through her. She shook against the wall, her leg tightening over Tawan’s shoulder, her grip in Tawan’s hair almost painful. The waves kept coming, rolling through her as Tawan’s mouth and fingers drew them out mercilessly, refusing to let her collapse too quickly.

Her chest heaved, sweat dampening her skin, lips parted in helpless moans as the pleasure pulsed through her until she could barely remember her own name. The only thing she knew, the only anchor left in the haze, was Tawan — the heat of her mouth, the strength of her hand, and the dark eyes that never once looked away as Ayla shattered against her tongue and fingers.

 

---

 

Inside Ayla’s condo, the air was still heavy with the aftershocks of what had just happened. The scent of her release clung faintly to the room, sweet and heated, while the faint hum of the air-conditioning tried—and failed—to cool the charged space between them. Ayla leaned back against the edge of her sofa, chest still rising and falling unevenly, strands of hair stuck to her flushed cheeks. For a moment, it almost looked like she was softened, undone. But then her lips curved. That smirk.

“So much for rejecting my confession before,” Ayla murmured, her voice laced with mockery, even though it trembled faintly from the remnants of pleasure still coursing through her. She tilted her chin up like a brat who had found her footing again, eyes glittering with provocation.

Tawan, crouched still before her, didn’t so much as flinch. Her dark hair was mussed where Ayla’s fingers had tangled and tugged, her sharp jawline glistening faintly from what she had just done. Yet her gaze was steady, unreadable, almost dangerous in its calm. She rose slowly, standing over Ayla, forcing the younger woman to tilt her head back to meet her eyes.

“We’re not finished yet,” Tawan said lowly, her voice firm, dominant, and leaving no room for challenge.

That alone should have silenced Ayla. But of course, it didn’t. Ayla’s smirk only widened as she pushed herself upright and closed the gap between them. Her body pressed deliberately against Tawan’s, her delicate frame molding into the taller woman’s broad form. It was then her eyes flickered downward—catching on the subtle but undeniable bulge straining against the front of Tawan’s slacks.

For a fraction of a second, Ayla froze. Shock registered in her expression, quickly masked with defiance. She lifted her gaze back to Tawan’s, refusing to give away just how much the discovery unsettled her.

“Well,” Ayla began, her tone playful but with a shaky undercurrent, “so you’ve been hiding something after all.” Her hand, daring and reckless, trailed down until it pressed lightly against the hard shape through Tawan’s slacks. Her smirk sharpened as she pushed her body more firmly against it, testing. “Is it big enough to pleasure me? Honestly…” Her lashes lowered as she dragged her nails ever so lightly across the fabric, “…I don’t think it’s that big.”

Tawan’s jaw tightened, though her face remained otherwise unreadable. Only her eyes gave her away—dark, burning, and focused squarely on Ayla. She stepped forward, forcing Ayla back until her spine hit the wall. A strong hand caught Ayla’s wrist, pinning it above her head before the younger woman could tease further. Tawan leaned in close, her lips grazing the shell of Ayla’s ear as she whispered.

“It’s big enough,” she said, her voice like velvet and steel all at once, “that it won’t fit inside you.” She tilted her head slightly, her breath hot against Ayla’s skin. “Big enough to wreck you.”

Ayla’s smirk faltered just slightly at the way Tawan said it—not shouted, not growled, but spoken with such quiet certainty it carried more weight than any threat. Her bratty exterior wavered, her body betraying her with a shiver that ran down her spine.

Still, she lifted her chin defiantly, biting back the heat in her cheeks. “Big words,” she shot back, though her voice wasn’t as steady as before.

Tawan’s hand pressed more firmly around her wrist, keeping her pinned against the wall, the other hand brushing deliberately along her side until Ayla trembled again.

“You’ll find out,” Tawan murmured, “just how big words can feel.”

Ayla tilted her chin up defiantly, eyes still glistening from the storm of pleasure she had just endured. Her voice came out breathy, but she masked it with a smirk, her bratty streak slipping back into place.

“Prove it, then,” she challenged, her tone laced with false bravado. “I’ve seen bigger anyway.”

The words were a lie, and both of them knew it. But it was the kind of lie Ayla threw out like a match on gasoline, just to see what would burn.

Tawan’s jaw flexed, the muscles ticking tight as her dark eyes narrowed, a flash of heat sparking in their depths. Without a word, she grabbed Ayla’s wrist and pulled her along, the air between them heavy, the tension snapping like stretched wires. Ayla barely had a chance to register the sudden shift before her back hit the soft mattress of her bed.

“Still lying,” Tawan said lowly, towering over her.

Ayla’s breath hitched, her smirk faltering but not fully breaking. “Maybe,” she teased, though her voice trembled around the edges.

Tawan’s hands moved with firm precision, tugging at the straps of Ayla’s dress until it slipped down her body in one smooth motion. The fabric pooled at Ayla’s waist and then onto the floor, leaving her bare and exposed under the room’s dim light. Her skin flushed instantly, goosebumps rising under Tawan’s steady gaze.

Ayla’s hand twitched as if to cover herself, but pride kept her still. She forced herself to meet Tawan’s eyes, daring her to say something, daring her to react.

But Tawan’s expression gave nothing away. She simply stood there, her figure a silhouette carved in discipline and control. Then, without breaking eye contact, she began undoing her own clothes.

The sound of fabric brushing against skin was deafening to Ayla’s ears. When Tawan tugged off her shirt, lean muscles shifted under her skin, defined lines of her shoulders and arms catching the low light. Her belt clicked loose, slacks sliding down, leaving her in simple boxer briefs that clung to her toned thighs.

Ayla’s eyes betrayed her. They roamed shamelessly, drinking in every inch of Tawan’s body—shoulders, chest, stomach, the sharp V-line drawing her gaze lower until she froze at the obvious bulge between Tawan’s thighs.

Her mouth went dry, her throat tight, but she masked the rush of heat that spread through her with a smirk. Biting her lip, she tilted her head and let her eyes sweep up and down deliberately.

“Not bad,” she drawled, though her voice cracked just faintly.

Tawan arched a brow, unbothered, her stance radiating quiet authority.

Inside, Ayla’s bravado wavered. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her whole body feeling hot, her pulse quickening at the sight of the body before her. She wanted to keep playing the brat, to keep teasing—but there was no denying the way her thighs pressed together involuntarily, betraying her real reaction.

And Tawan noticed.

The corner of her mouth curved—just a hint, dangerous and knowing. She took a step closer to the bed, her presence overwhelming, filling the room.

Ayla’s smirk flickered, but she forced it back, lifting her chin again in defiance. But deep inside, the heat was spreading faster, burning through every nerve in her body.

She was caught between pride and desire, between wanting to challenge and the urge to surrender.

And Tawan? Tawan was more than ready to make her choose.

 

The air between them thickened the moment Tawan climbed on top of Ayla, her weight pressing Ayla deeper into the mattress. Their mouths met in a kiss that was nothing like before—hot, deep, and hungry. Ayla tried to keep up, but every time she thought she had the upper hand, Tawan’s tongue slid past her defenses, pulling another gasp from her lips.

Their bodies pressed flush, skin to skin, warmth sparking wherever they touched. Ayla could feel the firmness of Tawan’s chest pushing against her own, their breasts crushed together in a friction that made her toes curl. But what stole the air from her lungs was the slow, deliberate weight of Tawan’s hips. The hardness trapped in those boxer briefs shifted against her, sliding over her slick heat in a way that made her head fall back into the pillow.

“Oh my gosh…” Ayla gasped, her voice catching halfway between shock and desire.

The smirk on Tawan’s lips was infuriating, maddening, and devastatingly attractive all at once. She didn’t rush—she never rushed. Instead, she moved her hips with deliberate slowness, dragging that firmness across Ayla’s sensitive core until Ayla’s nails dug into Tawan’s shoulders. Every stroke left her trembling, her thighs instinctively parting wider to let more of Tawan in.

Ayla’s bratty defiance wavered, her voice breaking into moans she couldn’t control. “Tawan… please—” She didn’t even finish her plea before another grind stole her breath.

For the first time, Ayla begged without being commanded.

Tawan’s mouth curved against her jaw, lips brushing her skin as she whispered low, controlled words that made Ayla’s body shiver. “If you want me this badly, Ayla… then stop flirting with Pete.”

Even through her haze of pleasure, Ayla’s stubborn streak flared. She tilted her head, biting back another moan with a wicked smile. “Who says I will?” she teased, her voice breaking as Tawan pressed harder, dragging across the very spot that made her body jolt.

Tawan stilled suddenly, making Ayla whine at the loss of friction. Their foreheads pressed together, Tawan’s gaze dark and unwavering, pinning Ayla down more thoroughly than her body ever could. “You think this is a game?” she asked, her voice low, rough with warning.

Ayla bit her lip, her body betraying her bravado as her hips shifted desperately, trying to chase that friction again. “Maybe… I just like how jealous you get.”

Tawan’s responding growl was deep, vibrating against Ayla’s chest as she ground down harder, dragging another shameless moan from her.

“Then I’ll just have to remind you,” Tawan said, her tone both promise and threat, “that no one—no one—gets to touch you like this.”

Ayla’s retort died on her tongue, replaced by a sharp cry as Tawan rolled her hips with devastating precision.

---

Tawan’s gaze darkened as she shifted her weight, the mattress dipping under her strength as she knelt between Ayla’s thighs. Her hand slid down, curling at the waistband of her boxer briefs. Ayla’s breath hitched instantly, her eyes following every movement with a hunger she didn’t even bother disguising.

Tawan dragged the fabric down slowly, deliberately, as though savoring the reveal. Her body was a study in power — the lean, honed lines of her abdomen rippling as the last barrier between them was removed. Ayla couldn’t help it; she lifted her head from the pillow, her neck straining as she tried to see. Her anticipation was written all over her flushed face, her lip caught between her teeth, her pupils blown wide with need.

Then she saw.

Her eyes widened, mouth falling open, words failing her for once. What stared back at her wasn’t what she had arrogantly dismissed moments before. It was more. Far more. Thick, heavy, unapologetically hard — veins pulsing faintly under the dim light, already slick with evidence of just how turned on Tawan was.

For a moment, Ayla froze. The bratty smirk she wore like a crown faltered. Heat exploded through her, rushing down her spine, curling low in her stomach until her thighs trembled. Her body reacted faster than her mind, her breath catching in ragged little gasps.

Tawan’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smirk as she caught Ayla’s expression. “What’s the matter?” Her voice was low, husky, each word dripping with deliberate tease. “Still think you’ve seen bigger?”

A blush burned across Ayla’s cheeks, but she stubbornly refused to look away. She bit her lip harder, trying to hold onto that familiar sass, though her body betrayed her with every shiver.

Tawan didn’t give her the chance to hide. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of Ayla’s head, her body blanketing the smaller woman with suffocating dominance. Their bare skin met — hot, damp, unyielding. Tawan pressed closer, her chest molding against Ayla’s, their breasts crushed together with every sharp breath.

And then — Ayla felt it.

The thick, heated length of Tawan sliding low between her thighs, nestling exactly against her wet, sensitive core. The blunt tip of it brushed across her, teasing, rubbing against her slick folds but never quite entering.

Alya gasped, loud and unrestrained. “Oh my gosh—” she cho5ked out, her back arching, her legs trembling as the pressure rolled against her clit. Every nerve in her body fired at once.

Tawan groaned low, the sound vibrating in Ayla’s chest where their bodies pressed together. Slowly, torturously, she ground her hips forward, dragging her length along Ayla’s wet heat, spreading it wider.

Ayla’s moan was helpless, raw. She clutched at Tawan’s shoulders, nails digging in as her voice turned into a plea without Tawan ever demanding it. “Please… please, Tawan…”

The bodyguard tilted her head, lips brushing the shell of Ayla’s ear as she whispered with dangerous calm. “Begging already? Hn. I thought you were tougher than that.” Her hips rolled again, deliberately rubbing her tip over Ayla’s swollen clit, coaxing another strangled moan from her.

Ayla whimpered, the brat in her faltering under the relentless teasing. Her thighs quivered, her stomach tight with tension, every nerve screaming for more.

That was when Tawan’s voice hardened, dropping to something deeper. “Listen to me, Ayla.” She pinned her hips still, holding the tip right at Ayla’s entrance, enough to make her feel it but not enough to give in. “You’re mine now,” Tawan said, her voice low and rough, each word pressed against Ayla’s mouth like a vow. She shifted her hips, dragging another helpless sound from Ayla before continuing, “So if you keep flirting with anyone else, I’ll bend you—whether you’re on TV, on stage, or in front of the whole damn world. Do you understand me?”

Ayla’s breath hitched, her pride warring with the thrill that rolled through her. She should have pushed Tawan away, should have fought that commanding tone. But her lips parted instead, trembling around the words that burned on her tongue. “We’re… not together,” she managed, her voice shaky but defiant. “You rejected me, remember? You don’t get to say who I can or can’t flirt with.”

The smirk that curved Tawan’s lips was equal parts dangerous and devastating. She leaned closer, pressing her forehead against Ayla’s, her voice dropping even lower. “I don’t care,” she murmured, dragging her hips in a slow, punishing grind that stole Ayla’s next breath. “You’ve been mine from the beginning.”

Ayla’s back arched at the contact, her body betraying her even as her stubbornness clung to life. “Y-you can’t just decide that,” she said between gasps, though her nails clutched at Tawan’s shoulders, clinging instead of pushing away.

Tawan’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, as if Ayla’s resistance amused her, but then it sharpened again, dark and possessive. “I already did,” she said, each syllable steady, unshakable. “And deep down, you know it too.”

Ayla’s throat worked as she tried to swallow, her mind racing. She wanted to argue, to throw back another bratty retort—but the way Tawan was looking at her, the way she moved against her, left her too raw to form anything sharp. Her chest heaved with every breath, her lips parted around a soft whimper she hated herself for giving away.

With that, she rolled her hips again, dragging her length over Ayla’s dripping core, smearing the wetness across her skin, grinding her clit with delicious pressure. Ayla’s sass dissolved instantly into another broken moan, her back arching helplessly as she clung to Tawan’s shoulders, her entire body caught between resistance and surrender.

And Tawan — smirking, steady, merciless — knew she had her right where she wanted her.

 

Tawan finally pressed forward, steady and unrelenting, and Ayla’s sharp cry filled the room. Her back arched against the sheets, fingers clawing at the blanket as she tried to take the sudden stretch. Tawan’s body hovered over her, heat radiating down like fire, her eyes darkened as she watched Ayla struggle to adjust.

“You feel it now?” Tawan’s voice was a low growl, thick with control. Her hand gripped Ayla’s hip firmly, holding her in place when Ayla instinctively tried to squirm away. “So much for saying you’ve seen bigger…”

Ayla’s lips trembled as she tried to form a retort, but what came out instead was a broken gasp. The weight of Tawan’s body pressing her down, the fullness spreading inside her, it was all too much. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her heart pounding loud enough that she swore Tawan could hear it.

The bratty words that had come so easily before now caught in her throat. She bit down on her lip, trying to smother the moan that betrayed her.

Tawan leaned in close, her mouth brushing Ayla’s ear. “You’re tight—so damn tight,” she muttered, letting each word sink in. “You’re wrapped around me like you were made for this.”

Ayla whimpered, cheeks flushed a deep red. She wanted to deny it, to throw something sharp back like she always did, but her body was betraying her in ways she couldn’t hide. Every little twitch, every shiver, gave her away.

Tawan’s lips pressed against the side of Ayla’s neck, lingering just long enough to leave heat behind. Then she pulled back just enough to look down at the girl beneath her—messy hair against the pillows, eyes wide and watery, chest heaving.

“Say it,” Tawan demanded, her voice laced with rough authority. “Tell me who’s making you feel like this.”

Ayla turned her head stubbornly, eyes darting away as if she could hold onto the last bit of her defiance. But when Tawan pushed deeper, slow and deliberate, Ayla gasped loudly, her hands gripping Tawan’s shoulders as if for her own anchor.

“You…” she choked out between breaths, the word tumbling before she could stop it. “It’s you, damn it—”

Tawan smirked, her expression both victorious and hungry. “That’s right,” she whispered, pressing forward again, letting the pace stretch the moment, drawing another moan from Ayla’s lips. “Mine. Every sound, every breath… all mine.”

Ayla’s eyes fluttered shut, her bratty facade crumbling under the rhythm Tawan set. Her body trembled, caught between the sting of the stretch and the overwhelming flood of sensation that came with every movement.

And still, Tawan didn’t relent. She wasn’t rushing; she was savoring—pushing Ayla further into submission with every slow, deliberate thrust, claiming her with a mixture of dominance and raw need that Ayla had no defense against.

Tawan shifted her weight, pressing Ayla deeper into the mattress. The move forced Ayla’s legs wider, her body opening further to Tawan’s steady control. With the taller woman fully above her now, Ayla felt caged, trapped beneath the heat and weight—yet her body trembled not with fear, but with a helpless anticipation she could no longer disguise.

The pressure, the friction, the way Tawan filled every space—Ayla’s head tilted back against the pillow, a desperate sound tearing from her throat. She had fought it, teased and resisted, but now every deliberate movement of Tawan’s body made it harder to keep the act alive.

“Tawan—” Ayla’s voice cracked, caught between a sob and a moan. Her nails dragged along Tawan’s shoulders, clinging instead of pushing away. “I… I can’t—”

Tawan’s mouth curved into a knowing smirk, though her eyes burned with something far more primal. She pressed forward, slow enough to make Ayla feel every inch, every moment of the stretch.

“You can,” Tawan murmured near her ear, the words sharp and soothing all at once. “You will. Look at you… thought you could play games with me, brat? Now you’re begging with just your body.”

Ayla shook her head weakly, but the denial carried no strength. Her hips moved almost unconsciously, rising to meet Tawan’s rhythm, desperate for more even as her pride tried to cling to the scraps of resistance. Each time she lifted to meet her, the sound that escaped her lips grew louder, higher.

“Please…” The word slipped out, unbidden, and Ayla’s eyes flew open in shock at herself. She had never begged, not once. Yet here she was, voice breaking, chest heaving, her bratty defiance drowned in the flood of sensation overwhelming her.

Tawan’s grin widened, teeth flashing in the dim light. She caught Ayla’s chin in one hand, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Say it again.”

Ayla’s lips trembled, eyes watering from both the strain and the unbearable pleasure coursing through her. She wanted to bite back, to find some sharp retort—but the only sound that came was another needy moan, and then—

“Please… don’t stop.”

The admission shattered what little armor she had left. Ayla arched into Tawan fully now, no longer resisting, her hips moving with desperate urgency against the slow, relentless rhythm. Her voice broke with every syllable. “Tawan, please—I need it, I need you—”

The change in her tone, in her whole demeanor, was intoxicating. Tawan’s smirk faded into something hungrier, darker. She pressed her body harder against Ayla’s, chest to chest, letting Ayla feel the strength pinning her down, the dominance she had lost all will to fight.

“That’s it,” Tawan whispered, her voice roughened with desire. “That’s what I wanted to hear. No more brat, hm? Just mine. Say it.”

Ayla clung to her shoulders like she was drowning, breathless and trembling. Her words spilled out between ragged cries. “Yours—I’m yours, Tawan—”

The confession only spurred Tawan further. She moved with slow precision, savoring each sound, each plea, each broken edge of Ayla’s voice. Every motion drove Ayla higher, closer, until her bratty walls had completely crumbled, leaving only raw, unguarded need.

Pinned beneath Tawan, Ayla’s body moved with her now—no longer resisting, no longer teasing—only begging, surrendering with every motion, every word, every desperate sound that slipped from her lips.

Tawan’s weight pressed down on her, every movement a steady, commanding rhythm that left no space for Ayla to hide behind her usual teasing. The bratty quips that once spilled so easily from her lips dissolved into broken sounds—gasps, whimpers, pleas that she could hardly recognize as her own.

“Tawan—” Ayla’s voice caught, breath stuttering as her body arched up into the deeper thrusts. Her hands, which had moments before been pressed against Tawan’s chest as if to hold her back, now clutched desperately at her shoulders, fingers digging into muscle like anchors. The fight in her had slipped away, replaced with a helpless clinging, a need that tore right through her pride.

Tawan felt the shift. She could see it in the way Ayla’s eyes had gone glassy, the way her lips parted around every ragged moan instead of a snide remark. The brat was breaking—unraveling beneath her.

“Now you’re quiet,” Tawan murmured against Ayla’s ear, her tone a low rasp laced with dark satisfaction. Her hips rolled forward, deeper this time, making Ayla cry out again. “Where’s that sharp tongue of yours, hmm? All gone?”

Ayla shook her head, not in defiance, but as though she couldn’t find words at all. Her thighs trembled as she tried to match Tawan’s rhythm, hips lifting instinctively to meet every hard stroke. The wet heat of her surrender clung to Tawan, dragging her in even tighter.

“Tawan—please…” Ayla’s voice broke into a sob of pleasure, her nails raking helplessly down Tawan’s back. She didn’t even know what she was begging for anymore—more, harder, to never stop. All she knew was that she couldn’t keep up the act. The bratty armor she wore had been torn away, leaving nothing but raw want.

Tawan’s gaze darkened at the sound of her plea, her pace shifting with purpose. She drove deeper, harder, forcing Ayla to arch and cling tighter, her body shuddering with every motion.

“You’re mine,” Tawan growled, her words vibrating against Ayla’s skin as she pressed her lips to her throat. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to hear you fall apart like this.”

Ayla could only nod, whimpering into the crook of Tawan’s shoulder as her body gave in completely. Each thrust pulled another desperate cry from her lips, the last remnants of her playful resistance burning away until all that remained was pure, unfiltered surrender.

Her legs wrapped tight around Tawan’s waist, holding her in place, as if she was afraid Tawan might pull away and leave her empty. Her body moved in sync with Tawan’s now, not out of stubbornness, but out of need—her hips rising to meet every plunge, chasing the overwhelming waves of pleasure that kept crashing over her.

“Tawan… oh god, I can’t—” Ayla gasped, voice breaking as she buried her face against Tawan’s neck, clinging like she might drown without her.

Tawan’s lips brushed her ear, her breath hot, voice rough with a mixture of restraint and raw possession. “You can. You will. For me.”

And Ayla—once bratty, teasing, untouchable Ayla—didn’t argue. She just held tighter, every shiver, every moan, every broken plea proof that she had surrendered fully to the storm Tawan brought crashing down on her.

Tawan didn’t let Ayla’s clinging stop her. With a strength that always left Ayla trembling, she shifted, hands sliding down Ayla’s sides before catching her hips. In one fluid movement, Tawan turned her over, pressing her flat against the sheets.

Ayla gasped, startled, her cheek brushing the pillow as her knees sank into the mattress. Tawan’s weight followed close behind, pressing down firmly, her hand at the small of Ayla’s back keeping her in place.

“Tawan—” Ayla’s voice wavered, a mix of anticipation and nerves.

Then she felt it—the deliberate, steady push as Tawan entered her again from behind. The new angle tore a broken cry from her throat. It was deeper. Rougher. Dirtier. Every inch filled her in a way that made her whole body shiver, her breath catching as though she might actually sob from the overwhelming stretch.

Her fingers clawed at the sheets, knuckles white, as she buried her face into the pillow. “It’s too much—” she whispered, though her hips were already trembling, already pressing back against Tawan without meaning to.

Tawan’s hands gripped her hips like iron, dragging her back into every thrust, making sure Ayla felt every sharp edge of sensation. She leaned forward until her chest pressed against Ayla’s back, her breath hot and ragged against the nape of her neck.

“You can take it,” Tawan growled softly, her words vibrating through Ayla’s skin. “You’re mine. All of you.”

Ayla whimpered, nodding helplessly, her voice breaking into moans that matched every thrust. The bed rocked beneath them, the air thick with the sound of their bodies moving together, the wet, relentless rhythm that left Ayla undone.

Each drive went deeper than the last, and Ayla could feel herself unraveling. Her body moved without thought, arching her back, meeting Tawan halfway, begging silently for more even as tears stung at the corners of her eyes.

“Tawan—” Ayla’s cry cracked, her hands fisting tighter in the sheets. The position left her wide open, vulnerable, unable to hide from the intensity. It was too raw, too consuming—yet she couldn’t bear for it to stop.

Her moans grew higher, breath breaking into gasps as Tawan’s pace kept pounding her into the mattress. Every deep thrust sent sparks racing through her nerves, building, tightening, pulling her closer and closer to the edge.

She squeezed her eyes shut, voice trembling. “I’m—so close—”

Tawan’s hand slid up, flattening against Ayla’s stomach, pulling her back firmly against her with each movement. Her hips drove forward with precision, forcing Ayla to take every ounce of her. The deep growl of Tawan’s moan spilled against her ear, the sound alone almost enough to push Ayla over.

“Then let go for me,” Tawan demanded, voice rough with heat.

And Ayla did.

Her whole body seized, back arching hard as the orgasm ripped through her. A strangled cry broke free from her throat as she shattered, clinging to the sheets as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded. Wave after wave tore through her, her legs trembling violently, her body quaking beneath Tawan’s unrelenting rhythm until she could barely breathe.

Her cries melted into broken whimpers, her body collapsing into the mattress, utterly spent. Yet even then, she still pressed back into Tawan’s hold, as if she couldn’t bear the thought of being without her even for a second.

Behind her, Tawan moaned low, her own pleasure heavy and raw, hips still moving as she rode the aftershocks of Ayla’s surrender. Her hands held Ayla firmly, possessive, making sure she stayed exactly where she was—hers, through and through.

 

The bed was a wreck of tangled sheets, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling from the aftermath. Ayla could hardly breathe, her cheek pressed into the pillow as Tawan finally stilled inside her, one last groan escaping Tawan’s lips as she buried herself fully, pulsing and hot.

Ayla whimpered at the sensation, overwhelmed, every nerve in her body alight. It was too much—pleasure crashing into pain, then back into pleasure again until she thought she might dissolve. She squeezed her eyes shut, fingers clutching at the sheets so tightly her knuckles were white.

And then, slowly, she felt Tawan’s weight slump forward, their bodies collapsing together, chest against back, heavy breaths filling the silence of the room. For a long moment, the only sound was their uneven breathing, Ayla’s soft gasps tangled with Tawan’s low, ragged exhales.

The bratty edge in Ayla’s chest flickered to life, faint but defiant, even though her body was still weak and trembling beneath Tawan’s. Her voice cracked when she tried to speak, but she managed to mumble, almost bitterly, “...So what is this, then? A one-night stand?”

The words hung in the air, heavier than the heat between them.

Tawan’s eyes snapped open. She lifted herself just enough to glance down at Ayla, her expression sharp, dangerous, cutting straight through the haze of exhaustion. Her jaw tightened, and her voice came out low, rough, and edged with possessiveness.

“No.”

The single word was iron.

She leaned closer, lips brushing against the damp curve of Ayla’s ear as she whispered, deliberate and merciless, “No, Ayla. You’re mine.”

The tone sent a shiver straight through Ayla’s body, undoing what little resistance she had left. Her eyes widened, lips parting as she tried to hold on to her last defense—but the tremor in her breath betrayed her.

Tawan’s hand slid across her stomach, pulling her back tightly against her chest as if to emphasize the claim. “Don’t you ever think otherwise.”

Ayla swallowed hard, her throat tight. She wanted to argue, wanted to toss out another bratty remark, but the words caught in her chest. Because even in her stubbornness, she knew—she felt—that Tawan meant it. Every hard, unrelenting thrust, every whispered filth, every look of dark hunger had been more than just desire. It was ownership, plain and undeniable.

And that terrified her.

Her body, however, betrayed her fear. Instead of pulling away, she pressed back against Tawan’s hold, clutching the arm around her waist with trembling fingers.

She shut her eyes, whispering softly, almost defeated, “...Then don’t let go.”

Tawan stilled for a heartbeat, then tightened her hold, pulling Ayla flush against her until their heartbeats almost matched.

The room fell quiet again, but this time the silence was heavy with something deeper than lust. Something neither of them could take back.